


Tainted

by Winterstar



Category: White Collar
Genre: Crack, F/M, Mild sexual situations, undead stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-02
Updated: 2012-07-02
Packaged: 2018-04-06 22:04:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4238202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winterstar/pseuds/Winterstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zombie!Satchmo means trouble for Neal. This fills my own <a href="http://whitecollarhc.livejournal.com/58251.html?thread=569995#t569995"> prompt</a> on LJ wc hurt comfort. This also fills the zombie square on my angst bingo card!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tainted

**Author's Note:**

> my first crack!fic – yippee!! Plus I just made fun of my [last story](http://dmk0064.livejournal.com/43170.html) too!

“Jesus Christ, Neal, what did you do to my dog?”

Neal looks down at the heavily panting beast at his feet; his grip on the leash barely contains the struggles of the dog. “I didn’t do anything.”

Peter frowns and glares at Neal. It is a decidedly skeptical expression. “Then why the hell does he have blood shot glowing eyes, have some kind of jelly-like substance smeared all over him, and smell like he’s been in the sewer for a week?”

Neal makes a point of examining Satchmo as if it is the first time he’s noticing that something is wrong with the dog. It is not. He already knows something is off, he figured that one out after the voodoo lady or whoever the hell she was hanging out at the corner of the Burke’s street threw a curse at him. He hadn’t any idea what he did wrong to elicit such a response, but she spat at him. He ducked out of the way and the goop hit Satchmo smack dab in the middle of his forehead. It slid down the side of his muzzle whereupon he licked it up. It was all Neal could do not to add his own puke to the scene.

Over the course of the next few minutes the dog transformed before Neal’s eyes, though there was no way he was going to confess any of this to Peter. He’d play it cool; he was after all one of the world’s best con-men. Routinely, he ignores the fact that he was caught, arrested, thrown in prison, and left there to rot for an interminable four years.

By the time, Neal dragged Satchmo back home he was fairly certain no amount of con-man abilities and talents would get him out of this one. The stench emanating off the dog alone is enough to clue the entire block in that the dog has something seriously wrong with him.

“It wasn’t me,” Neal says and concludes that maybe sometimes, his con-man sweetened tongue does abandon him.

Peter bends down to get a good look at man’s best friend and for his efforts he’s rewarded with a snarl and a bark that howls through the house like the hounds of Baskerville.

“Jesus!” Peter jumps away from the dog and Neal lets loose the leash.

Satchmo’s hackles rise and both Neal and Peter bump into one another as he backs them up the stairs.

“Peter?” Neal says and grabs hold of the bannister, thinking this might be a good time to use his catlike reflexes and leap over the railing and scramble up the stairs.

“Really, Neal, what happened on the walk? I just asked you to take my dog for a walk. Where the hell is my dog?”

Satchmo growls low and deep, his teeth glisten in the day light streaming in from the door’s window. Globs of red ooze drip down from his mouth and puddle on the floor. The distinct odor of festering flesh fills the room.

“Did you get him vaccinated?” Neal asks.

“What?”

“Is he rabid or something?” Neal starts to estimate how fast he can make the stairs. The door is out of the question, escape that way is blocked by the insane canine at their feet.

“What? No! I mean yes he’s vaccinated. He isn’t rabid.”

“Because, I am not getting [rabies](http://dmk0064.livejournal.com/43170.html).” Neal gives Peter a light shove and he pitches backward up the staircase. “I’ve had nightmares about that all my life and that is something I am _not_ doing.”

Satchmo ends the discussion as he lurches toward them, his bark sprays out a fountain of spittle filled with blood and puss. Peter whacks at the dog once with his arm and Satchmo chomps down, tearing away at the fabric of his suit jacket. Neal thinks it is fine; it isn’t one of Peter’s better suits anyway.

“Get up the stairs!” Peter yells and Neal doesn’t need a second order. He scurries up the steps, grabbing the railing to hoist himself up two at a time. He hears Peter fumbling behind him and then suddenly makes the landing only to bump into Elizabeth as she exits the bathroom. Without warning he seizes her wrist and hauls her along with them. She yelps and staggers in her high heeled shoes. He’s able to stop her fall but her shoes have to be sacrificed for the greater good.

Somehow they make it to the bedroom, but Satchmo is close on their heels. Peter shoves them all in the closet and closes the door.

“Jesus Christ, Neal, what the hell did you do to my dog?” Peter asks again. He shakes his arm out. “He bit me.”

“Satchmo bit you?” Elizabeth says. She shifts around and her breasts press up against Neal’s chest.

The closet is very small, too small for three adults to hide from an obviously rabid dog. Neal forgets the dog issue and enjoys the ampleness of Elizabeth’s figure. He pushes forward a little so that he can get the full effect.

“On the arm,” Peter is saying. “He went nuts. Did he eat something? Maybe he’s sick.”

“I think he’s rabid,” Neal says and leans down to get a whiff of Elizabeth’s hair. It smells like night jasmine and he cannot stifle a slight moan of desire.

“Did you just smell my hair?”

“I can’t help it, it smells good. The closet is small,” Neal says as if it isn’t already obvious. He’s pretty sure she’s going to realize something else is blatantly going on down south in a few minutes if they don’t get out of here.

“Stop pressing up against my wife,” Peter says. “I cannot believe this; you’re feeling her up in front of me.”

“I am not, it isn’t my fault you have an insanely small closet for a grown up and that your wife has an incredible set of breasts.”

“Did you just comment about my wife’s breasts?”

Satchmo sniffs at the edge of the door and growls again. The smell of his breath overwhelms the cramped space and Neal gags a bit.

“What the hell have you been feeding him?” He chokes some more and rests his head against the door frame. It is the perfect position to get a good feel of Elizabeth’s hip and ass with his own hip.

She doesn’t protest but a swift knee to his groin has him bent over as far as he can possibly go –which isn’t far enough. “Stop it, Caffrey.”

He gulps for breath and nods.

“What happened?” Elizabeth says ignoring his whimpering.

“Neal took Satchmo for a walk and brought back the wrong dog.”

“Did not,” he manages to get out.

“Why has he gone all Cujo on us then?”

“Maybe the voodoo witch at the end of your block had something to do about it?” Neal says and wishes he could just cradle his privates a little and make sure all the pieces and parts are all in one place. The closet doesn’t allow for that kind of movement.

“Old Mrs Kingston? Really Neal, now you’re blaming the widow?” Peter actually sighs and shakes his head as Satchmo digs his nails into the frame work of the door to try to gain access.

Neal glowers at Peter but realizes that’s ridiculous to try and make his point since he can’t really see anything in the dark of the closet. He yanks out his phone and sends a text message.

“My dog is trying to kill us and you’re texting?”

“I’m getting help, staying in here for the rest of my life with your attitude and your wife’s big breasts is not something I relish,” Neal stops then adds, “Let me amend that – your attitude is not something I relish.”

Peter stomps down on Neal’s foot. Neal screams and drops the phone.

“Shit.”

“Can anyone pick it up?” Peter says after a moment of stunned silence.

“I can feel it with my toes,” Elizabeth says and wiggles a little bit. It feels delightful to Neal, the best part of this horrendous day so far. She eases around and has to press against him to actually flex her toes enough to pick up the phone. Neal discovers something he never thought he would know – Elizabeth Burke has porn star nipples. For the first time he’s happy the closet is dark, because he feels a red flush color his face. This is something he shouldn’t know.

Now he will always know it.

“Got it!” she says and bends a bit to pluck it from her toes.

He raises an eyebrow, she has very talented toes. She would have made a wonderful burglar. He takes the phone from her and checks the text. He already has an answer.

“Help is on the way.”

“What kind of help?” Peter asks.

“Don’t worry about it,” Neal says.

“Neal!”

Mozzie shows up thirty minutes later.

By the time Mozzie subdues the dog, the three of them are nearly catatonic from the stench of Satchmo’s breath invading the crack under the door and the heat from the closet. They tumble out of the enclosure in one limp heap. Sticking out of Satchmo’s back is a three pronged device connected to wires. Mozzie holds a box that looks like a transistor radio in his clutches.

“What did you do to my dog?” Peter asks. It seems to be his mantra these days.

Mozzie doesn’t exactly smile, he rarely does. What Mozzie gives is his all-knowing Buddha expression. He lifts a finger and says, “Russian surplus. They have outbreaks of zombification all the time in the Southeastern part of Siberia.”

“Zombification?” Peter says and sighs again. He kneels down next to the unconscious dog. He places a hand into the long fur and lightly strokes it.

“Don’t worry, his tail will grow back. It is usually the first thing that falls off once they are zombies.” Mozzie picks up the tail and hands it to Peter. Peter blanches but doesn’t throw it away. Strangely, Elizabeth takes it from him and places it in the trash.

“He’ll be fine now,” Mozzie says. “He’ll need to rest a few days. The rotting fish smell of his breath might take a few days to go away.”

“Oh, that’s normal for him,” Elizabeth says.

“Zombification?” Peter asks again.

Neal stares at the scene but can’t quite make out what just happened. Instead of asking, he decides its best just to pack it in and go home. He doesn’t even say goodbye, he just walks out and takes a taxi home. If Peter wants to find him, he can always call up the tracking data.

He spends the rest of the day in bed, zoning out, not thinking about how a zombie dog almost ate him. By morning he shuffles off to the bathroom and takes a long, hot, steaming shower. The stench of Satchmo and his journey through the undead clings to him. It seems to take forever to get it off. When he steps out of the shower, he hears the door to his apartment open.

“Neal?”

Peter. Neal grips the edge of the sink and waits. He answers as he slings the towel around his hips. “Peter?”

“Hey? You okay?”

He answers with the affirmative, he thinks. Maybe he’s in shock or something. It isn’t everyday zombie dogs attack.

“El took Satchmo to the vet this morning,” Peter calls. “He’s doing better. He’s tail even grew back, he isn’t spouting all that blood and goo anymore.”

Neal thinks this must be a good sign, but hell what does he know? He hasn’t encountered zombies before. Maybe he needs to talk to Mozzie. He checks to see if he should shave, decides against it, and walks out to greet Peter before he goes to gather his clothes.

“Glad to hea-.” Neal starts to say as he rounds the corner into the main room of the apartment.

Peter stands in the middle of the apartment. His blood shot eyes glow and his undead stench reeks. The arm Satchmo bit yesterday hangs by only a few threads of ligaments.

Neal turns on his heel, but slips on the wet floor. Peter vaults across the space in one motion. His good arm catches Neal; his teeth close in on his throat. Neal writhes and batters at Peter to gain his freedom.

“What the hell did you do to my dog, Neal?” Peter says right before he bites down into the tender flesh of Neal’s throat.

THE END

Author’s note: my first crack!fic – yippee!! Plus I just made fun of my [last story](http://dmk0064.livejournal.com/43170.html) too!


End file.
